Don’t get me wrong: Tuesday’s generous Chamber VIII concert had lots of terrific traditional music going for it – but, between plums by Vivaldi and Schumann came a piece from Canadian composer R. Murray Schafer that temporarily turned my musical world upside down.
But first came a well-known item from the so-called “red priest” of Venice, Antonio Vivaldi: his delightfully perky Piccolo Concerto. Laid out in the customary fast-slow-fast baroque pattern, its bouncy and kinetic outer movements framed a songful central episode. Presiding on piccolo was Flute queen Tara Helen O’Connor (whom host Charles Wadsworth dubbed “the fastest tongue in the West” last Spoleto) – and she lived up to that billing, with speedy, yet deadly accurate playing. Backing her up were violinists Yoon Kwon (in her second program appearance) and Geoff Nuttall, violist Daniel Philips (a double-threat master of both violin and viola). The basso continuo end was upheld by Wadsworth at the harpsichord, plus double-bass meister Ed Allman (The Charleston Symphony’s principal) – who was mostly doubled by Peter Kolkay’s assured bassoon. It was a breath of Baroque fresh air.
Then came Schafer’s String Quartet No 3, the morning’s controversial ear-bender. Nuttall described Schafer as something of an “eccentric nut,” with a penchant for all kinds of far-out writing. And this piece was certainly farther out than just about anything I’ve experienced so far this festival.
It began with just the cellist – Chris Costanza – onstage, playing what sounded like “drunken” glissandi (though I assure you that Chris was sober), sliding into his pitches (that is, when you could pick them out). Some of his more interesting sustained stretches involved two notes: one held firm, with the other at various intervals as close by as a quarter-tone, sliding up or down into eventual unison with the held note. It made for “pangs” of delicious discord; a colorful sense of constant flow in and out of dissonance.
Awareness slowly grew of the ghostly, muffled tones from Lesley Robertson’s viola – first from offstage. She got louder as she entered stage right – one slow step at a time, to join her colleague both musically and in proximity. We then heard the violins start up from the Memminger’s side entrances, providing an eerie sort of surround-sound effect as both Geoff Nuttall and Scott St. John strolled aimlessly amid the audience – playing all the while – until they, too, finally joined their fellows onstage, ending the movement.
Then, in the second movement, all hell broke loose as our fearsome foursome tore into some of the most downright violent music I’ve ever heard from a string quartet. That’s because they were making other noises, too – LOUD ones, like screams, shouts, moans, war-whoops, etc. They also raucously chanted repetitive words and phrases in some mystery language (native American?). It was funny as hell, too: all four of them hammed it up royally as they went – and, after a couple of especially manic episodes, they’d all stop on a dime, panting in perfect time and looking pooped. We couldn’t stop laughing.
The final movement, with its copious use of quarter-tones, was much calmer and quieter, with some doleful unison playing, followed by twittering violins drifting over soft, droning tones from viola and cello. Oh – and the only vocal enhancement here was some unison humming. I thought it would end the way it started when Nuttall slowly rose and moved away from his fellows, playing as he went … but everyone else remained in place as the lights went down and the whole thing trailed off into silence and darkness. Wow.
This one split the audience right down the middle: around half of the crowd leaped to their feet, screaming and stomping – while others politely applauded (or didn’t) from their seats … and I saw a few sour faces on my way out. But remember, part of Spoleto’s mission is to put new and different stuff to the test – to try and find out what is art and what is not. And this piece made many of us reflect accordingly.
The program’s final work – Robert Schumann’s Piano Trio in D Minor also bore traces of madness – but in this case, the composer (plagued by mental illness for much of his life) came by it honestly. And this piece was from one of those “down” times. You’d never know it, as the music is mostly coherent and well-organized. The only hints are the ones Schumann usually gives us: precipitous mood swings and stretches of fathomless sadness. There were places in the aching slow movement that broke my heart. Only the second movement – mostly a sunny romp – defied that pattern, despite its occasional dark edge. Performing it to perfection were Geoff Nuttall (violin), Alisa Weilerstein (cello) and Peja Muzijevic (piano).
I loved everything – but it’s going to take me quite some time to get over that crazy Schafer number.
A Walk on Chamber Music’s Wild Side
Don’t get me wrong: Tuesday’s generous Chamber VIII concert had lots of terrific traditional music going for it – but, between plums by Vivaldi and Schumann came a piece from Canadian composer R. Murray Schafer that temporarily turned my musical world upside down.
But first came a well-known item from the so-called “red priest” of Venice, Antonio Vivaldi: his delightfully perky Piccolo Concerto. Laid out in the customary fast-slow-fast baroque pattern, its bouncy and kinetic outer movements framed a songful central episode. Presiding on piccolo was Flute queen Tara Helen O’Connor (whom host Charles Wadsworth dubbed “the fastest tongue in the West” last Spoleto) – and she lived up to that billing, with speedy, yet deadly accurate playing. Backing her up were violinists Yoon Kwon (in her second program appearance) and Geoff Nuttall, violist Daniel Philips (a double-threat master of both violin and viola). The basso continuo end was upheld by Wadsworth at the harpsichord, plus double-bass meister Ed Allman (The Charleston Symphony’s principal) – who was mostly doubled by Peter Kolkay’s assured bassoon. It was a breath of Baroque fresh air.
Then came Schafer’s String Quartet No 3, the morning’s controversial ear-bender. Nuttall described Schafer as something of an “eccentric nut,” with a penchant for all kinds of far-out writing. And this piece was certainly farther out than just about anything I’ve experienced so far this festival.
It began with just the cellist – Chris Costanza – onstage, playing what sounded like “drunken” glissandi (though I assure you that Chris was sober), sliding into his pitches (that is, when you could pick them out). Some of his more interesting sustained stretches involved two notes: one held firm, with the other at various intervals as close by as a quarter-tone, sliding up or down into eventual unison with the held note. It made for “pangs” of delicious discord; a colorful sense of constant flow in and out of dissonance.
Awareness slowly grew of the ghostly, muffled tones from Lesley Robertson’s viola – first from offstage. She got louder as she entered stage right – one slow step at a time, to join her colleague both musically and in proximity. We then heard the violins start up from the Memminger’s side entrances, providing an eerie sort of surround-sound effect as both Geoff Nuttall and Scott St. John strolled aimlessly amid the audience – playing all the while – until they, too, finally joined their fellows onstage, ending the movement.
Then, in the second movement, all hell broke loose as our fearsome foursome tore into some of the most downright violent music I’ve ever heard from a string quartet. That’s because they were making other noises, too – LOUD ones, like screams, shouts, moans, war-whoops, etc. They also raucously chanted repetitive words and phrases in some mystery language (native American?). It was funny as hell, too: all four of them hammed it up royally as they went – and, after a couple of especially manic episodes, they’d all stop on a dime, panting in perfect time and looking pooped. We couldn’t stop laughing.
The final movement, with its copious use of quarter-tones, was much calmer and quieter, with some doleful unison playing, followed by twittering violins drifting over soft, droning tones from viola and cello. Oh – and the only vocal enhancement here was some unison humming. I thought it would end the way it started when Nuttall slowly rose and moved away from his fellows, playing as he went … but everyone else remained in place as the lights went down and the whole thing trailed off into silence and darkness. Wow.
This one split the audience right down the middle: around half of the crowd leaped to their feet, screaming and stomping – while others politely applauded (or didn’t) from their seats … and I saw a few sour faces on my way out. But remember, part of Spoleto’s mission is to put new and different stuff to the test – to try and find out what is art and what is not. And this piece made many of us reflect accordingly.
The program’s final work – Robert Schumann’s Piano Trio in D Minor also bore traces of madness – but in this case, the composer (plagued by mental illness for much of his life) came by it honestly. And this piece was from one of those “down” times. You’d never know it, as the music is mostly coherent and well-organized. The only hints are the ones Schumann usually gives us: precipitous mood swings and stretches of fathomless sadness. There were places in the aching slow movement that broke my heart. Only the second movement – mostly a sunny romp – defied that pattern, despite its occasional dark edge. Performing it to perfection were Geoff Nuttall (violin), Alisa Weilerstein (cello) and Peja Muzijevic (piano).
I loved everything – but it’s going to take me quite some time to get over that crazy Schafer number.